


Secondhand Heart

by captaintinymite (augopher)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (honestly I have no idea what else to tag this), Alpha Derek, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Cell Memory, Inspired By Tumblr, M/M, Organ Transplantation, Pre-Slash, Scott doesn't get bitten, Stiles develops a muscle car fetish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-25 00:56:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4940485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/augopher/pseuds/captaintinymite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has been on the transplant waiting list for two years suffering from slowly progressing heart failure. His new heart comes just in time. </p><p>It's said that sometimes transplant recipients start experiencing things and feelings that their donors did. What happens when Stiles begins to do the same?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secondhand Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this tumblr post by unbelievable-facts](http://unbelievablefactsblog.com/post/127110160712/there-are-over-70-documented-cases-of-transplant):
> 
> _There are over 70 documented cases of transplant patients experiencing the same thoughts and feelings as their organ donors did in life. People report everything from craving the donors’ favorite foods, to inheriting their talents. It’s posed a theory that the cells in our body can store memories._

“Okay, Dude,” Scott grinned as he bounded into Stiles’ hospital room. He’d been visiting his father for the last month, and the guy just wouldn’t let him leave early despite his many protests on Stiles’ behalf, “let me see the scar!”

Stiles paused, the spoon from his Jello still between his teeth.

“You look so much better than the last time I saw you. Your lips aren’t blue anymore!”

Stiles grinned and set down his dessert. “I should certainly hope so,” he said and reached back to untie the top lace to his hospital gown. He proudly displayed the zipper-like scar running down his sternum. “It’s awesome. I was thinking of going as a cadaver for Halloween. Like this is the zipper on the bag. Yeah, what do you think?” When Scott didn’t answer, Stiles groaned, “Oh come on! That idea is genius!”

“So whose heart did you get?”

Stiles shrugged. “They don’t tell their name, Scott. I just know it was a twenty-five year old woman from Los Angeles.”

“What happened to her?”

“They also don’t tell you that either. Confidentiality and all.”

Scott sat down on the edge of Stiles’ bed and patted his knee. “So glad you’re gonna pull through. You have no idea how badly I tried to get my dad to bring me home early. When my mom called and said you were running out of time, and then when she said they found you a heart.” He wiped his eyes. “I’m so happy for you, Dude.”

Stiles waved at him, “Bring it in, Man.” He winced when Scott held on a little too tightly. “Easy. I don’t know if you heard but I finally got that heart transplant that I’ve only been waiting on for two years now.” Just saying the words out loud, made him laugh with pure unadulterated joy.

Scott joined in with him until they were both crying as well. It was beautiful.

 

****

Stiles ran his fingers over the black leather jacket hanging on the rack at the thrift store. It was distressed in all the right places. It looked like it would fit perfectly, and he plucked it off the hanger. As he looked at his reflection, he admired the way he had finally started to fill out. No longer starved for oxygen and crippled by fatigue. The puffiness his face had worn for so long (hooray edema) had subsided. He looked good.

The jacket fit him like a dream.

Dare he say it, he, one Stiles Stilinski, finally looked hot. That made the ridiculous medication cocktail he needed to take on a daily basis totally worth it.

Yay anti-rejection meds!

On his way to the register, a couple other items caught his eye. He held the black t-shirt at arms length. Who didn’t love band t-shirts? Behind its place on the rack were a couple others of the same size. Excellent.

And ooh. Those were fantastic boots. Everyone needed a good sturdy pair of boots.

He sat down on the bench to try them on. Not bad, decent tread, soles still had a lot of wear left in them. These would go great with that jacket.

Before he realized it, he’d practically grabbed the whole store and put it on the counter. He walked out of the shop with a significantly lighter wallet.

 

****

 

John tripped over the shopping bags sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor. “Stiles!” he shouted in frustration. “Your clothes belong in your dresser not the kitchen!” When Stiles didn’t make his presence known right away, he started picking the purchases off the floor. “Thrifty Me This?” He furrowed his brows. Since when did his son shop at secondhand shops? Leather jacket…band t-shirts, combat boots?

Well the doctor did say now that Stiles had the energy and felt well for the first time in years, he might actually start doing things he’d always wanted.

“Heya, Pops.” Stiles walked into the dining room, towel drying his hair. Around his neck, he’d draped his shirt. “Sorry about the mess. My Izze exploded in the car. Commence emergency shower.” He looked up to see his father staring at him and followed his gaze, glancing down at his chest.

John couldn't tear his eyes away from the nearly foot long scar. He’d seen it only a couple times, and that was right after Stiles’ surgery. “That looks like it healed up pretty good.”

“Yeah, Doc says I healed a faster than the average, which, if you ask me is a blessing. Those staples itched like crazy.”

“I’m glad you have an upbeat outlook, but if you want me to look into treatments to make the scar less noticeable, I will. They probably wouldn’t be covered by insurance, but if it’s important to your recovery-”

Stiles laughed, the sound of which filled the whole room, a delight to John’s ears. For too long, his son’s laughter came out in a wheeze, sounded pained and winded. “No, this is an honor badge. Plus it totally ups my badass factor.”

Shaking his head, John pointed to the pile of bags on the table. “What’s with the clothes?”

“I dunno. Saw ‘em, thought they looked cool, and here we are.” He pulled the jacket out of the bag. “I mean look at this! I checked the label. Real leather for twenty bucks. Can you believe that?”

“You eat yet?”

“No, but I’m thinking, we’ve been good the last couple months. What do you say dinner at Annie’s? I’d kill for a cheeseburger, maybe some curly fries.”

John laughed, secretly giddy and a little hopeful that the dinner might include a burger for him as well.

 

****

 

“Here we are,” the server said as she set two dinners down on the table, “one Double Bypass with curly fries and Turkey Burger Deluxe, hold the cheese, hold the mayo. Roasted broccoli instead of french fries for the Sheriff.”

“You know, Sheila, why doesn’t my meal have a catchy name?”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “You try coming up with something clever for that heart healthy excuse for a meal. I don’t care how good a cook Ricky is. There is no way to make roasted broccoli taste as good as french fries.”

“And I am inclined to agree with you, but my son here cares about my ticker. I’d say way more than he should but I get it. Thanks, Sheila.”

She nodded and left them to their meal.

“So Dad,” Stiles said, emptying his soda, then set it on the edge of the table where Sheila would see it and swing by for a refill, “I was thinking that you and me take a weekend and drive down to catch a Golden State game soon, make a weekend out of it. You know, since we haven’t been able to go a vacation for so long thanks to, well you know,” he tapped his sternum.

“I think that sounds like a great idea.”

“Hey, sorry, Sheila. I meant to ask for a refill when you brought our food. Can I have another please?”

She gave him a good long look. “It’s a good thing you’re young. You still have the metabolism of a bird.”

John looked at his son. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“That is your third soda already.”

Stiles shrugged. “So?”

“Stiles,  you hate blueberry.”

He took a bite of his burger. “No, I don’t. Come on. You should try it. It’s so good.” His fingers grabbed a couple curly fries off his plate and took a bite. Immediately, he began flailing before scraping the offending food item off his tongue with his fork. “Oh yuck. That’s disgusting.”

John snagged one off the plate. “Tastes fine to me.”

“For science,” Stiles said as he took another only to have the same reaction. He gagged, grabbing his father’s glass of water and downing it. “Yeah, no, those are definitely gross.”

“Okay, and now I know something’s up. You love the curly fries here.”

“Taste buds change.” Stiles passed the fries over to his father and took his broccoli instead. “You know, Dad, I don’t know why you complain about this so much. Broccoli is delicious.”

John shook his head with a chuckle. If the worst thing, only complication of the transplant Stiles came away with was no longer liking curly fries and loving blueberry, he’d take it. He watched his son take a long drink of soda.

However, when he went to place the empty cup once more on the edge of the table, he missed. John braced himself for the shatter of glass on the tile below, but none came because Stiles thrust his hand out to snag the falling item from midair. “Good reflexes.”

Stiles looked at his hand still clutched around the glass, a mix of shock and excitement on his face. “That.was.awesome!”

 

****

 

Stiles lay on his stomach in the middle of his bed surrounded by magazines, his head propped up by one hand, knees bent, and toes tapping in rhythm to the music playing from his laptop speakers. He quietly sang along, “London calling to the underworld.Come out of the cupboard, you boys and girls.”

As he flipped through the pages, admiring the brilliant paint job on a 1970 Chevy Chevelle. He whistled. “Wow, look at those custom rims. Those must have cost a mint.” He licked his index finger and turned the page and immersed himself in the history of Stock Eliminator drag racing.

“That is a sick ride. Ninety thousand dollars?! You’ve got to be kidding me. You could buy a house for that price tag.” He didn’t even look up when his dad appeared in the doorway. Before the man could knock, Stiles greeted him, “Hey, Dad. How’s it goin’?”

John stared at him puzzled. “How did you know I-”

Stiles turned the page. “Heard you come up the stairs.”

He furrowed his brows. How could his son hear anything over the music? He looked at the periodicals scattered about the room, stooping down to pick one up off the floor. “Since when are you into muscle cars?” Though it really shouldn’t have surprised him all that much given the way Stiles had taken to dressing a bit like a Greaser from the 1950’s. All the kid needed was a well oiled pompadour

Stiles sat up and stared at him, clearly thinking. “I…don’t actually know. I was at the mall last week and saw this gorgeous Challenger. Supercharged Hellcat V8, Plum Crazy Purple.” He covered his heart with both hands. “Be still my beating heart. That car was an enthusiast’s wet dream.”

John quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Poor choice of words.”

“So you bought the entire bookstore’s supply of muscle car magazines? You know when most teenage boys hoard magazines, it’s usually  _Playboy_.”

Stiles cackled, “Ha! Guess again, Dad. That’s what the internet is for. Better selection, less judgement. Trust me.”

“Something you’d like to tell me?”

“What? That, I, your eighteen year old son has seen porn? I thought, by now that was a given,” he said going back to his magazine. “I gotta have something to inspire me when the moment strikes.”

John pinched the bridge of his nose. Why did his son have to be an impulsive oversharer? He was about to suggest they head into town for dinner when Stiles groaned.

“Oh my god! That is the sexiest car I have ever seen!” He turned the magazine around to show his dad. “Look, Pops! It’s beautiful.” He traced the outline of the black ‘73 Camaro LT with his fingers. “So, so pretty. That, that right there is my dream car.”

“No it isn’t. Your dream car is the original Batmobile. You have said so on no less than fifty occasions.”

Stiles furrowed his brow. “You’re…absolutely right. That’s weird. I don’t know why I said that.” He stood up and looked at the pile of magazines for a minute before shaking himself out of his thoughts. He grabbed his boots from beside the bed, muttering to himself about his stupid muscle car fetish and where the hell had it come from, as he tugged on his shoes.

 

****

 

Stiles scooped up the ball and cradled in the netting of his crosse, spinning to his left as he dodged the defender. He cut a couple yards back towards the center of the field, stiff-armed the second defender and sent the ball through the legs of the goaltender to the back of the net.

“Yes!” He raised a fist in celebration.

“Dude, that was awesome!” Scott said clapping him on the back. “Looks like your new heart came with killer lacrosse skills.” When Stiles scowled at him, Scott backtracked. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant, now that you’re healthy, it’s obvious you’re really good at this. Too bad the transplant didn’t come like two years ago.”

“Stilinski!”

Stiles flinched at the sound of Coach’s whistle, before smiling proudly. “Heyyyy, Coach. That is the first time you’ve said my name right.” He held up his hand for a high five that was not returned. “Come on. Don’t leave me hanging. Up top.”

Coach shook his head, before remembering why he’d blown his whistle in the first place. “Welcome to first line. Looks like Greenberg gets to babysit the bench all by himself this year.”

Stiles and Scott whooped and hollered in celebration on their way back to the locker room with the rest of the team. Halfway down the hallway though, Stiles froze and turned around, staring out the doors towards the woods.

“What?”

Stiles retreated until he stood in the doorway, gaze still fixed at the tree line. As if by magic, he took several steps outside. He looked mesmerized, in a daze.

“Hey, what is it?”

Stiles tilted his head to the side, eyes squinted as though he were trying to figure out why he’d come outside. “I don’t… know. I just feel- I need.” He blinked a few times and shook his head. “It’s nothing. Let’s go shower. My XBox is calling our names.”

After they’d showered and redressed in their street clothes, they climbed in the Jeep. Stiles seemed to be still confused about his little detour on the way to the locker room, because he drove in silence. Eventually, he grew tired of the lack of noise and jabbed a finger at the dial on the stereo.

All of the sudden, his eyes lit up, and he started singing along to the radio as they sat at a red light. “I don’t give a damn ‘bout my reputation. I’ve never been afraid of any deviation. An’ I don’t really care if you think I’m strange. I ain’t gonna change.”

“Dude! What the hell?”

Stiles looked over at where Scott stared at him like he’d grown an extra head. “What? I love this song.”

“Okay,” Scott said, wary of his friend’s sudden interest in classic rock. The week before, he’d caught him listening to Social Distortion. As far as Scott could remember, Stiles hated punk rock.

He tried to push the change in Stiles’ musical tastes to the back of his mind. However, he soon realized they were not driving to the Stilinski residence. Not even close.

“Stiles, where are we going? I thought we were driving to your house. This is not how we get to your house.”

“I’m aware, thank you. Slight change of plans. I need to make this stop first,” Stiles said, pulling to a stop in front of the Beacon Hills Preserve sign.

“Why are we here?”

“Dunno. Feels like some place I need to be right now. Like a gut feeling. Compulsion almost.”

 

****

 

Derek stood in front of the house, looking up at the half finished project. He’d told his sister she was foolish to want to rebuild the family home. Why build another one in the same spot where hunters knew it existed? Yet, his older sister had been one of the most stubborn people he’d ever met. She insisted, and so he’d listened to her describe her plans in great detail over their twice weekly Skype sessions.

Though the connection was not the best quality, her eyes would light up on the screen when she talked about the progress on the house. She’d said it would be much more modest than the first one had been. It was only the two of them after all. When, and if, either of them found someone and wanted to start a family, they could add on to the house later.

He didn’t share her enthusiasm for it, but the way she got so excited about it made it feel like they weren’t living on opposite sides of the country, almost. He’d nearly been heartbroken when she took that job in Los Angeles after college, but she assured him that he’d be finished with school soon enough and could join her, leaving behind the cold winters of New York for more temperate climates.

He’d been on the Q, on his way home when he got a call from the 310 area code. He assumed it was Laura calling to tell him she’d changed her number. As long as he lived, he would never forget the words (“ _Mr. Hale, I’m afraid I have some terrible news_ ”). The sad thing was... He already knew. He'd felt his wolf grow in power as he inherited her alpha spark. He was just hoping it was something else,   _anything else._

Of all the things that had tried to kill them over the years, most often hunters, his sister just had to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, killed by a stray bullet. As it turned out, wolfsbane wasn’t necessary if you got shot in the head. Kind of hard to heal yourself if your brain is a turned to mush.

He was just about to climb back in his car, well Laura’s car, but he guessed it was his now, when he felt an odd sensation tugging in his chest.

How? How could he feel the pull of pack? He had no pack anymore; he was alone.

But then…

The wind changed, and with it, carried the faint, all-too familiar scent of family. It couldn’t be. Derek took a deep breath through his mouth and tried to convince himself it was merely a hallucination. She’d been gone almost six months now, and it still hurt like it was yesterday. No matter how badly he wished she was still here, she would never be coming back.

The scent grew stronger, as though it was coming closer, and he would have thought it was from the construction project, that maybe Laura had touched something inside, but the wind blew from the opposite direction.

When he was just about to write it all off as him finally losing his mind, he heard two voices approaching in the distance.

“No, Scotty. I’m telling you. I don’t know what I’m looking for, but I know exactly where I’m going.”

Derek walked towards the voices, stopping when he saw two young men. How dare they intrude on his family’s land!

“This is private property!”

One of them, the one with the shaggy hair and permanently naive face began to profusely apologize, and Derek was moments away from telling them to get the hell out of here, when the other one, the Joe Strummer wannabe with the doe eyes, inhaled sharply and covered his mouth, eyes wide in shock.

“What?” Derek snapped.

“It’s you. Thumper,” his words were barely more than a whisper, but Derek had heard them perfectly.

Before he could stop himself, Derek had the guy pinned against a tree. “Why are you here?”

“I… I don’t know,” he could see the fear in the kid’s eyes, hear the hitch in his voice, “something pulled me here. I tried to ignore it, but I couldn’t. I’m not talking about like I was just too curious. I couldn’t ignore it.”

Derek loosened his grip on his shirt, which shifted and revealed the top of a scar in the middle of his chest, one that disappeared under the collar. Derek’s mouth went dry, he felt his heart skip a beat.

“Look, I’m sorry we’re trespassing, but take it from me. You really should have that arrhythmia checked out. I’m sort of an expert on bum tickers. You don’t want to be stuck on a two year waiting list for a new one.”

Derek breathed in deeply, and there, buried underneath all the layers of the guy’s scent was Laura’s. “You got a new heart?” He let go of his hold on the Ramones shirt the kid wore.

“Yeah.”

“Why did you call me Thumper?”

“Oh my god. You heard me?” He facepalmed. “I honestly have no idea. I instantly recognized you, even though I am fairly certain I have never seen you before in my life. I would definitely remember a face like yours. That was the first name that popped into my head.”

Derek swallowed hard. “My older sister used to call me that. We grew up in the house that used to be over there,” he pointed towards the construction site. “She was killed six months ago.”

“Dude, rough blow. I got my transplant about that time, and I often think about the family of the poor woman whose heart I have now. I tried to contact them to send a letter to the transplant coordinator, and they send- it’s a long process, but anyway, I got nervous. I have dozens of unsent letters on my laptop waiting to be printed. I think about her all the time. What was she like? Somewhere out there, there is a grieving family of some twenty-five year old who died in the prime of her life in Lo-”

“‘s Angeles,” Derek finished his sentence for him. “She loved punk rock, and Joan Jett. She’d sing her favorite song, ‘Bad Reputation’ at the top of her lungs. Her dream was to own a black 1973 Camaro LT, but couldn’t find one. She settled for a black 2011.” By now Derek had started crying. The laugh that came next was wet and broken. “Laura hated curly fries. She never met a thrift store she didn’t like, was the most bull-headed person you’d ever meet in your life, but god was she funny.”

He felt a hand come to rest on his shoulder. “Curly fries used to be my favorite… until I got my new heart, and I used to loathe punk rock. Up until six months ago, my favorite song was ‘Little Lion Man.’”

Derek looked up to see tears welling up in his eyes.

“So you think I have your sister’s heart?”

How could he explain that he didn’t just think so, he knew it? That pull in his chest before he’d found these two in the woods, he knew now it was the pack bond making sure he found them. How could he explain that he could just smell it? Then, the guy took another deep breath and leaned closer.

“Why do you smell like I’ve known you all my life?”

Derek laughed. He could work up to that. “Derek.”

“What?”

“I’m Derek.”

“Stiles,” he nodded.

Derek stared at Stiles’ chest, unsure how to ask for the thing he wanted most in that moment, but he swallowed hard and went for it. He held up his hand, palm facing Stiles. “Can, can I-” his hand shook, but Stiles caught on. He grabbed Derek’s wrist and held Derek’s hand against his chest.

Derek quit trying to fight the tears that had been falling with reluctance down his cheeks, finally letting himself grieve properly as he felt that steady thump beneath his palm. He thought he heard Stiles say something to his friend and then a jingling of keys, but didn’t bother looking up.

Several minutes later, Stiles shifted. “You hungry?”

“What?”

“Are you hungry? I would love to hear more about your sister, maybe tell you about me. I just get this feeling that Laura would want us to get to know each other, maybe be friends. I’ll warn you; I have been told I talk way too much.” When Derek gave him a pained chuckle, Stiles smiled. “That’s better. Come on. I know this place with the best blueberry soda.”

“Annie’s,” Derek said without missing a beat. “A blueberry soda with the Double Bypass and a side of the roasted broccoli was her favorite.”

Stiles threw an arm around his shoulder. “You, I like you, Derek. I think I’m gonna have to keep you.”

“And I think…I’m gonna want you to.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me on [Tumblr](captaintinymite.tumblr.com)


End file.
